


The Rogues' Gallery Rule #1: No fights. Ever. Stan will throw your ass out.

by generalzero



Series: The Rogues' Gallery [1]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Stan Lee, Gen, Marvel Cameos, Stan Lee is the barkeep, Supervillains, bad guy bar, but they don't get along too well, general bad-ass-ery, no heroes allowed, villains are awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3954151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/pseuds/generalzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Rogues’ Gallery was the only place anywhere for a hard-working Marvel villain to buy a drink without being rudely interrupted by the Avengers, Spiderman, SHEILD or various law enforcement agencies from around the galaxy. It was a closely guarded secret, and in order to keep it so, there were a few very firm rules. Of course, supervillains have never been particularly good at following rules…</p><p>After the second fall of Hydra, Bucky needed time to think, and The Rogues’ Gallery was the only place where he could escape the relentless stalking of Captain America. Tonight, however, it seemed that a peaceful drink was not in the cards for the Winter Soldier. Loki had just challenged Thanos to an arm-wrestling match. Which meant that in less time than it would take for Bucky to finish his vodka, something was bound to get blown up.</p><p>Rule #1: No fights. Ever. Stan will throw your ass out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rogues' Gallery Rule #1: No fights. Ever. Stan will throw your ass out.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: inspired by the awesome pic "Marvel-Villains-514368240" by Patrick Brown on Devianart and the awesome Spiderman fanfics on FFN by Chris Myers. Rated for general swearing. Series of non-chronological oneshots. Will take suggestions.
> 
> Rated for language.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not claim any creative credit for Marvel's genius.

Rule #1: No fights. Ever. Stan will kick your ass out.

The only entrance to the bar that Bucky knew of was a door at the far end of a basement hallway in a low-income apartment block outside of D.C. He supposed there must be other entrances though. After all, Bucky had seen every everyone from mutants to aliens from another galaxy in The Rogues’ Gallery at some point or other in the decades since he’d become—well, what exactly he’d become and who he’d been before that was up for debate. As far as Bucky was concerned, the only person he wanted to debate it with was an extra tall bottle of Russian vodka.

Due to his unique history, Bucky was an old customer but not a regular one; no one took note of him as he entered the crowded bar, except for Stan, who nodded from behind the bar. Bucky glanced around, trying to dredge up names for the familiar faces around him. The mad Titan Thanos held one of the best tables, joined by one of those Asgardian blokes… Loki. Yes, it was coming back to him. Despite Bucky’s inability to remember many things, he had never quite forgotten the Rogues’ Gallery. He didn’t often get time to visit—his masters hadn’t put much stock in relaxation—but it was a good place to get a feel for current events, and possible rivals or allies. For a long while there had been a strikingly familiar red-head frequenting the place, an assassin like him, though he couldn’t remember exactly what she looked like. Bucky didn’t see her tonight, though.

Red Skull was at the billiards table, playing with one of Thanos’s custom-bred assassins and a nervous-looking blue fellow whom Bucky didn’t recognize but who kept emitting violent electrical sparks every time he missed the cue ball. Several mutants were sprinkled around the room; Bucky recognized Magneto from a job he’d had in South America back during the Cold War. There were lots of new faces, too, and more aliens than usual. A good crowd, Bucky thought. No one looked particularly vexed, and the actual bar was conspicuously empty of lone villains downing shots. It looked like Bucky was the only person who would be throwing a pity party this evening.

Bucky approached a barstool next to a blonde man who was sucking on ice cubes, one after another, right out of their plastic tray. Put off by the heat the man was emitting, Bucky moved down to the other end of the bar and then tapped metal fingers on the bar to get Stan’s attention.

“The usual?”

Bucky nodded. “No, the good stuff. I’ll take a whole bottle.”

The barkeep raised an eyebrow. “I’ll get some up from the cellar.” He didn’t ask what had gone wrong, or where Bucky had been for the last fifteen odd years. Stan never asked questions about his patrons and never answered questions about himself. He spoke as much as was necessary and as long as everyone followed the rules that was very little. 

Bucky stared after Stan as he slipped out from behind the bar and through a closed door in the corner. Hanging on the door was an old chalkboard, a fixture in the place since Bucky’s very first visit. The very top said “RULES” and directly below was: “Rule #1: No fighting. Ever. You will get kicked out.” 

On first thought, it might have seemed counterintuitive that the clientele of The Rogues’ Gallery, which consisted mainly of people who considered themselves above rules if not above humanity itself, actually managed to follow most of the rules on the chalkboard. In fact, the frail old barkeep who wrote them rarely had to enforce them himself—although he had the guts to, Bucky knew—because the villains did it themselves. If the bar had to close, or were to become the exclusive territory of one faction, or if the heroes discovered it—well, everyone would lose the only place they had to relax.

Stan had not yet returned with Bucky’s vodka when the relaxing atmosphere in the bar was shattered.

“Ridiculous! A puny child like you could not hope to best me. Beware what you ask for, Asgardian.”

Thanos. His voice was unmistakable and nearly shook the whole premises. And no doubt Loki was the Asgardian in question. The God of Mischief was the only villain Bucky knew who would willingly challenge the Mad Titan to anything. Most villains were happy to let Thanos pretend to rule the bar from his corner table, and in return Thanos mostly ignored everyone who was not under his actual employ. 

Bucky spun around on his barstool and focused on the proceedings. Everyone else in the bar was discreetly doing the same.

Thanos had stood up, in shock or to punctuate his anger, but Loki was leaning back in his chair at the same table, balancing it on two legs. The Asgardian grinned widely, and spread his hands out in an innocent gesture. Here comes the silver tongue, Bucky thought.

“My Lord Thanos, of course I couldn’t possibly hope to best you. I simply wish to gain certain boasting privileges—imagine, challenging Thanos himself and actually surviving! No one I know can say that.”

Thanos sneered. “It would take no effort from me at all to kill you, godling. Your vanity will be your death someday.”

Loki’s smile twitched ever so slightly. “So it will, my Lord. But I wasn’t suggesting an all-out duel, of course. Something far more… mundane. More like a friendly challenge.”

Thanos did not look convinced. Bucky wasn’t surprise. The Titan was above such things as friendship, and for good reason, in Bucky’s opinion. Ties that were anything more than professional opened you up to the kind of chaos that had recently invaded Bucky’s life in the form of a red-white-and-blue folk hero.

Loki went on, unperturbed. The level of interest in the bar grew. “I challenge you to an arm-wrestling match. It’s Migardian custom. A test of strength.”

“I am above petty human games.”

Loki swung forward on his chair, all four legs slamming loudly into the floor. He picked up his drink and sipped nonchalantly. “Oh, well. I had only thought…after all Death Herself only ever tried it once. Perhaps it’s not as thrilling a game as I’d heard.”

Bucky sighed as Thanos visibly perked up. Don’t do it, Bucky mentally told him. 

“What has Lady Death to do with this mortal game?”

Bucky swung around and dropped his head into his arms, disgusted. He didn’t need to see Loki’s eyes flash mischievously to know that Thanos would accept the challenge. From there it was simple. Once the Titan accepted, his pride would not allow him to do anything but win. Similarly, Loki’s pride would not allow him to do anything but cheat. When all was said and done, something was going get destroyed, or an all-out brawl would start. Undoubtedly the Collector had already begun taking bets from his mink-lined armchair in the corner by the billiards table.

Everyone, including Loki and Thanos, was perfectly aware of this—but nobody raised a hand to stop it, not even Magneto, who Bucky really had thought had more sense than that.

So much for a quiet evening with a bottle of vodka. Bucky sighed and grabbed the arm of a passing Chitauri mook with his own metal appendage. Bucky’s firm grasp stopped it in its tracks. Ignoring the nasty look he received, Bucky pointed to the cellar door. “Go get Stan.”

It took a repeat of the order and a slightly bone-crushing squeeze to produce the desired response. Bucky could have gone himself, but another hard and fast rule of The Rogues’ Gallery was that you never, ever helped yourself to the liquor stores. Word was the cellar was booby-trapped. Let the Chitauri get a case of Heineken smashed over its head. It would probably survive, and Stan would get word eventually. Hopefully he’d still bring up the Russian vodka with him.

Bucky swung back around to assess the situation. The match had just started. Loki was grinning like the maniac he was; Thanos was growling at the unexpected resistance Loki was offering. Bucky wondered whether Loki was actually that strong or was depending on Thanos’s unfamiliarity with arm-wrestling. The Titan was holding his elbow wrong, and no one had seen fit to correct him. All around, villains were calling out encouragement to one side or another in between gulps of liquor. The only folks not crowded around the match were those placing last minute bets with the Collector.

Bucky got up and sauntered over to the Collector. He was reigning, much like Thanos tended to, from his usual seat, drinking his usual margarita in a diamond-chip glass and leaving smudges on it from his sparkling gold lipstick.

“Have a wager, my boy?” asked the old man. Without waiting for a reply, he gestured with perfectly manicured nails at his pink-skinned alien attendant. She shuffled forward with her notepad. 

“I give it five minutes before Loki cheats, Thanos finds out and the whole bar becomes a warzone.”

The Collector’s grin did not waver. “In war there is great profit.”

“What did Loki and Thanos bet?”

“What else? Thanos wagered the infinity gauntlet. Not that it’s worth much without the accompanying stones…” The man’s eyes took on a predatory gleam as he trailed off, gaze locked onto Thanos’s gauntlet.

“Quite the collector’s items, those stones, nyet?”

The Collector look sharply back at him. “Quite.”

“And Loki?”

“Oh, his voice or some nonsense. Exclusive-Thor-killing rights, probably. My secretary has the details. Were you going to place a bet?”

Bucky turned away without answering and returned to his seat at the bar. He shouldn’t get involved. His life was already complicated. All he wanted was a goddamn vodka. And for his memories to decide whether they wanted to come back completely or go the hell away.

Suddenly, but not unexpectedly, the sound of a table collapsing reached Bucky’s ears, and then Thanos’s voice boomed throughout the room.

“YOU CHEATED!” 

Bucky would have hidden behind the bar if he weren’t certain that if Stan saw him there the barkeep would pour every ounce of vodka in the club down the sink and bill Bucky for it. Instead, he got up and trudged over to the cellar door, intent on finding Stan and putting a stop to what was likely to become World War III in a few moments.

“YOU PATHETIC SCOUNDREL! I WILL MAKE YOU BLEED!”

Just as he got there, however, the door swung open to reveal Stan, arms full with two large bottles of authentic Cold-War-era Russian vodka, and trailed by a rather cowed-looking Chitauri. Stan was glowering, and Bucky instinctively put his hands up to signify that so help him god, he had nothing to do with it.

Stan thrust the bottles into Bucky’s hands and stalked out into the barroom. Bucky settled on a nearby chair, followed by the Chitauri, and put the bottles down gently. He debated pouring himself a shot, but didn’t want to risk reaching a hand behind the bar to get a glass with the barkeep looking so stern. He wasn't looking, obviously, but Stan was the kind of fellow who had eyes in the back of his head.

The little old man was threading his way through the crowd of excited villains, who parted like the Red Sea as soon as they saw him coming, giving Bucky a clear view of the action. The table no longer existed except as a blanket of debris to cushion shattered liquor bottles, playing cards and glasses. The chairs were similarly out of sight, knocked back or destroyed. Thanos had Loki in a painful looking headlock and seemed intent on tearing the Asgardian’s head from his heck; this endeavor was somewhat hampered, apparently, by the presence of Loki’s long fingers in Thanos’s left eye. Several nearby villains had gained faint auras of Loki’s trademark green; evidently Loki was trying to compel them to come to his aid. Thanos’s supporters around the bar were giving wary glares to those around them.

Stan marched straight up to the two battling supervillains and turned his glower on them, despite being dwarfed by both demi-god and Titan. Thanos and Loki immediately took notice, although they did not relax from their contorted wrestling position. The noise seemed to have been sucked out of the bar.

“Get out.”

Without a word, Loki teleported and was gone. Thanos was left standing alone, visibly debating whether or not he ought to be seen obeying a mere mortal. Was Stan really a mortal, Bucky thought? He hadn’t aged in all the time Bucky had known him, and certainly The Rogues’ Gallery was not situated in regular space the same way normal bars were.

The silence grew longer and Thanos looked uncomfortable. “He started it,” the Titan offered, managing to trail off uncertainly despite the fact that his voice still filled the entire room.

Stan only cocked an eyebrow.

Cowed, the Mad Titan left.

Bucky sighed with relief. Now to business…er, relaxtion. “Stan! Can I get a double shot over here?”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it! Please leave reviews and suggestions.


End file.
